Followers of the BBC
soap, The Archers, will be familiar with the posh yurt-building hippy
traveler new age vegan protester-brat, Kate Archer. (She is boring on
as I write in fact - something about how strawberry plants will yield
better if they are happy and respected.) Another resident
environmentalist on the programme is Linda, the politically correct,
knows-nothing-about-rural-reality, home counties incomer. Such tropes
lead us to the next obstacle in the way of rational thinking about
environment.
I sometimes think that,
when I say anything about the environment, a picture is projected on
to me, overlaying my short hair with wispy dreadlocks and my smart
casuals with a baggy species of home knitting - probably stained with
green stuff from hugging trees - and my shoes with sandals. At least
that's the kind of person the listeners seem to be talking to when
they respond.
Stereotypes can have at
their core a grain of truth. And one such is provided by certain
active supporters of environmentalism. For years the issue has been
regarded as their own turf by puritan, hippy and new-agey types. The
claim is that we need to abandon our gross behaviour and return to a
simpler life, growing our own stuff, making our own clothes and
communing with earth spirits. Recently, someone told me, in all
seriousness, that we 60 million or so inhabitants of the UK could
support ourselves by growing our own organic food on allotments.
Go to a gathering of
people concerned about the environment and, as well as interesting
new technology and thoughtful discussion, you might find a 'Healing
Area' peddling such stuff as aroma therapy and 'laughter yoga', and a
'circle of stones [providing] a focal point for mystics and
imagineers' and where the 'first port of call for those in need of
medical care is the Medical Herbalists caravan'. (These at the
Newcastle Community Green Festival.) You'll be pleased to know that
the witches at 'Sensory Solutions'
are also trained herbal practitioners. There's an old oak which is
pretty wise too. (Green Gathering publicity.)
Trouble is, this
nuttiness is a gift to the shouters who regard opposition to
'greenness', in particular climate science, as their
own turf. It provides the context into which Owen Patterson
could feed his 'green blob' rant last year, enabling him to come up
with the sentence 'Back to the stone age … but Glastonbury style.'
Here's Patterson:
And here's not-Patterson:
Oh - I've just thought:
you won't have to read them. Look, the Patterson thing is in the
Telegraph and the case
against him is in the Guardian.
Well, what would you expect from a bunch of old retired
colonels/hippy Guardian readers? Circle according to tribal
preference.
You
see tribalists all over Facebook – shouting to each other, the
already converted – reinforcing ideas already adopted, feeling a
sense of community and righteousness. It's usual at this point to say
that this is not rational argument, and I am not going to be an
exception. But I want to put it more strongly – it's not an
argument at all. It convinces no one who is not convinced already,
and irritates the fuck out of the rest of us. It drives out getting
properly to grips with the world (see earlier posts).
A sad consequence of
all this stuff is that we, whose political and consumer choices need
to be informed by reality, are prevented from getting sight of that
reality. An example of this is the controversy some years ago about
the use of GM crops. Both sides were avoiding the real point. GM
foods may or may not be environmentally dodgy, may or may not improve
food production – that’s to be found out. What was really dodgy
back then was that one corporation, Monsanto, a herbicide
manufacturer, wanted to use one of the many possible forms of GM,
herbicide resistance, to control the markets. They dressed this up as
a humanitarian mission to save the world; hapless Government, ill
advised, ill informed and thinking on its feet, chose to buy that
line. The opposition conformed to stereotype, indulging in vandalism
and predicting Armageddon. So a realistic debate about the possible
benefits or otherwise of this technique never got aired. The media,
whose job should be to open up such issues for us and help us to
understand them, gave us instead the soap opera they love, entitled
'Frankenstein Foods'.
When I am Dictator, I
will make all the puritans hippies and new-agers drink Fosters lager
while watching The Only Way is Essex for
as long as I see fit. And I will make the shouty buffoons wear
white-boy dreadlocks and listen to recordings of singing whales until
I see fit. Or maybe I'll force them all to live together in one great
compound where they can carry on their stupid tribal wars while the
rest of us try to get to grips with the serious problems that we
face. And there'll be a Medical Herbalist's caravan to treat the
injured.
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